


Ten of Cups

by moodlighting



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Canon Continuation, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Post-Kings Rising, Relationship Study, they're just happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:22:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7941148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodlighting/pseuds/moodlighting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was in Laurent’s practical experience that princes were not borne amongst a great wealth of friends.</p><p>
  <i>Written for Captive Prince Week: Day Three - Friendship</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten of Cups

It was in Laurent’s practical experience that princes were not borne amongst a great wealth of friends. Admirers, certainly. Loyalists and, less often, allies, yes. The more dedicated members of the household who sometimes approached the border of affection, sure. But true friendship seemed to require a particular level of equality, whether in status, age, ability, or some uncertain mix of the three, that being a prince innately lacked.

As he could recall, there had not been an abundance of children Laurent’s age at court while he was growing up. The odd aristocrat’s son only visited the capital from time to time. A servant’s daughter or stableboy was too far beneath Laurent to be considered an appropriate playmate, if they were even allowed into the palace to begin with. His uncle’s youngest companions, of course, were not spoken of at all.

The closest Laurent had come to it was taken from him at thirteen. Auguste had been, undoubtedly, his best friend. It was obvious to anyone who had encountered the two princes. From Laurent’s earliest memory, Auguste had always been at his side. No one had been more keenly devoted to his happiness, nor Laurent to anyone else in return.

It was difficult for Laurent to think about, the immense loss of something so precious, so rare in his life. But that pain was not as great as it had once been. Rather than pressing a thumb to the bruise, Laurent held on to the fond memories he had instead; of his and Auguste’s races at Chastillon, their adventures exploring the tunnels and hidden passageways of Arles, the treasure maps and paper labyrinths and riddle games Auguste would create by hand - likely doodled in the middle of council meetings, mind wandering. Laurent had many memories of his brother, whether of their time spent sparring, or playing knights and dragons, or simply of the quiet nights when their only company had been a flickering candle flame and the whispering pages of a book. Laurent held all of them dear.

Taking a deep breath, Laurent now turned his thoughts away from those memories. It did not do well to linger in the past, he knew, where time and events could not be altered. It was better to keep memories at a distance, close enough to be reflected upon but not close enough to hurt. Yet the past could often feel entirely, uncomfortably present here in Arles.

His fingers twitched where they rested, palm-up against the sheets, his limbs spread to each corner of the bed. He felt uneven. Perhaps, Laurent thought, he had been alone here for too long. The idea struck him as odd as it passed; he of course had spent much time alone in Arles. Odder still was the thought of there being a distinct time in his life when he had grown used to the opposite - enough to make being alone feel odd in the first place.

It could not be loneliness, Laurent knew, because Damen had only left the bed a few short minutes ago.

It had been nearly two full seasons since they’d last seen each other, since the summer Laurent spent in Ios after its siege. Laurent could not pretend he’d been anything short of eager to see him again, in the weeks leading up to Damen’s arrival.

Returning to Arles had been...difficult for him. Anticipating this, Damen, predictably, had offered to join him on the return journey, but Laurent, also predictably, had refused. If they were truly to unite their kingdoms, he’d argued, there would have to be some groundwork laid beforehand. A king abandoning his kingdom so shortly after reclaiming it would be very unbecoming, Laurent had insisted.

He was right, though that did not mean it had been easy for him. A viper pit was not so fearsome when you did not have another alternative but to conquer it, to claim it as your own. Untangling it, however, was another matter.

Laurent, unwilling to preside over what remained of his uncle’s court, nor the ghost of his father’s, had demanded change - a strenuous amount of it. Acquiring a council loyal enough to precipitate those changes had been a vexing challenge. Eliminating the remaining adherents to the regency, while quarrelsome at best, and requiring of him a somewhat irritating amount of time and effort, had also proven itself to be potentially fatal, at worst. Laurent, in the limited letters he had sent on horseback to Ios, had not spoken to Damen about the threats made on his life and crown. An Akielon king racing across the country and storming the halls of Arles, Laurent reasoned, would have only compounded matters further.

After months of travel, and his weeks spent in Ios, returning to Vere had been disconcerting for Laurent. Arles felt hollow, a sense that had sunk into Laurent like a draft, a stubborn chill he could not shake. He’d felt...not out of place, but at odds with himself. Though he hadn’t known it at the time, he’d grown rather accustomed to...partnership. Damen had a way of making things simple. Easy. He’d impressed upon Laurent the idea that not every task needed to be handled alone; that _Laurent_ was no longer alone. And while that idea rang true, and though he’d learned to heed good advice when it was presented to him, ripping out windows was still not Laurent’s first instinct upon encountering a problem. Though he knew he did not have to do everything by himself, it did not always stop him from doing so.

Alone in Vere, Laurent had missed Damen’s mind. He’d missed having someone to turn to, a confidante, an ally in any matter, if only because it was important to him. He’d missed, against all of the impossible odds, the trust between them. That was not something easily found in Arles. Honesty was still not an abundant resource here, despite Laurent’s best efforts otherwise.

He had missed Damen. Plain, pure, and true.

Returning to Vere, Damianos had come as a king, and upon arrival was treated, publicly, as one. There would be no more lies between them now, nor, if they truly intended to govern together, their people. Their reunion, however, had been private - no longer for the speculative eyes of the Veretian court to witness. It had served to remind Laurent that Damen’s mind was not all that he’d missed about him. Damen’s body, his hands, his kisses, were all that Laurent had sought to painstakingly remember in their time apart. Tender, ardent, whole, and above all else, _good_. It felt _good_ to be in Damen’s arms again. His presence in Laurent’s bed was a comfort, and a welcome one at that. It was something Laurent had never thought he might be allowed. Would allow himself to have.

The door to his chambers creaked open, and Laurent lifted his head to watch Damen as he crept back into the room. This too, it seemed, was something precious. Something rare.

Laurent dropped his head back onto the pillow, a small smile making itself known on his lips. “Have you finished whatever covert business you’ve been attending to?” he asked. “In my castle?” It was not completely lacking in disdain.

Damen only grinned. “I have,” he said, approaching the bed. It was obvious he was keeping something hidden behind his back.

Laurent, pointedly ignoring this, hummed mildly and lifted a hand to toy with the laces at the front of his loose shirt. Damen carefully sat on the edge of the bed - the only space available to him with Laurent spread out across the width of it. The skirt of his chiton brushed Laurent’s fingers where his right hand remained outflung. He had only the bottom half of the chiton wrapped around himself, Laurent noted, chest bare, which provided him an altogether amusing image of Damen sneaking around half-naked in the darkened, echoing halls of Arles on whatever private mission he’d committed himself to.

They were both in a state of undress, Laurent realized, yet the evening had never felt any more amorous than if they’d spent it pouring over maps, trading politics and ideas. It was approaching a fortnight since Damen had arrived, and they had spent many hours making love, reacquainting their bodies with each other with all of the patience and ease and devotion they found pleasure in. But that same desire did not seem intrinsic to this night.

It overturned any knowledge Laurent had of having a lover. Once again, Damen had confounded each and every one of his expectations, which Laurent was finding, irritatingly, to be commonplace in spending any extended period of time with the man. It bewildered him, leaving a low pulse of frustration simmering at the back of his mind. He did not like being without the means to approach a situation. To have advantage over it.

Yet, simultaneously, he welcomed this idleness in their relationship for what it was. It was content, and easy in all the ways Damen could make the world seem, like a veil lifted from over Laurent’s eyes. Perhaps, in time, its purpose would make itself known.

Raising his eyes, Laurent met Damen’s, who seemed content to have let Laurent’s mind continue spinning on in silence. He smiled, almost as if greeting him again. “Are you going to move over so I can join you?”

Laurent replied, “Are you going to show me what you’re hiding behind your back?”

Damen just laughed at him, shrugging. Laurent moved over at his request regardless, shifting into a sitting position again and propping himself up against their tangle of pillows and blankets, adjusting the ones next to him for Damen as well.

Damen kneed onto the bed and sat opposite him, still holding his arms stiff behind him. “It’s a gift,” he explained, unprompted.

“A gift.”

“Yes,” Damen said.

Laurent could think of no reason for them to be exchanging gifts. He certainly didn’t have one to return. “For what occasion?” he asked carefully.

“Your name day.”

“...My name day.”

“Yes.”

“Damen,” Laurent said. “That’s weeks from now.”

“Yes, and I realized, with my plans to return to Ios before the end of the month, that I won’t be here to celebrate it with you,” Damen said.

Laurent did not understand. Damen’s reasoning did not align with any previous experience he’d had. “All right,” he conceded, intrigued nonetheless. He gestured to the gift. “What is it?”

Damen’s eyes twinkled. “I spoke to the cooks in Ios before I left,” he said. “It seems that while I was on bedrest, you spent a significant amount of time in the kitchens.”

A blush rose to Laurent’s cheeks. He had.

Without further explanation, Damen brought his hands forward and presented to Laurent a wide-mouthed goblet, the one typically reserved for serving cream. It was not filled with cream. Instead, stacked into a neat, golden pile, was a generous serving of the pastry puffs Laurent recognized immediately. Loukoumades, they’d called them in Ios.

Laurent felt his lips part in surprise. He had not expected this. Again, he was struck by the sensation of being thrown off balance. He felt uneven, a warmth flaring in his chest. Carefully, Laurent reached out and took the goblet from Damen’s hands. The loukoumades glistened in the lamplight, delicately drizzled in Akielon honey. The goblet was warm in his palms: they were fresh.

He looked up at Damen, speechless.

“They told me they were your favorite,” he said.

A breath of unnamed emotion escaped Laurent. He remained mystified, yet felt deeply touched by the gesture. “Why?” he asked. “In Vere, we don’t…”

Damen, recognizing Laurent’s confusion, settled in closer. “It’s customary in Akielos to honor a name day with gifts. A feast, usually. With friends, family. Those you’re close with.” He met Laurent’s gaze. “It’s always a celebration,” he explained. “Not just among princes, or the noble houses. For everyone. It’s a special day and I -” he hesitated, briefly, seemingly struck by an uncharacteristic moment of reticence. “I wanted to do that for you. Since we’ll be apart.”

Laurent was confronted, once again, by the gaping differences between his and Damen’s countries, their customs, their experiences. In Vere, Laurent’s name day was observed not as a personal holiday, but a public one. It was a day free of labor, where festivities were held in the streets, most prominently in Arles, but throughout the country as well. A people’s celebration of their beloved prince. King’s Day and Queen’s Day were similar, as Auguste’s name day had also been.

Laurent had no sentimental connection to the observance as Damen seemed to. The one person he could remember paying any close attention to his name day had been Auguste. Once he had given him a horse, a pony he’d somehow kept hidden until Laurent’s name day. Laurent had chided him for keeping a young filly, needing of care, a secret.

It was likely that the only personal gift Laurent had received since then was one he’d also received from Damen, the gold lying warm against his wrist. Gifts were not traditional outside of courtship.

But this was not courtship. Laurent had experienced Damen paying court to him before, making love with his words, and this was not the same. With sudden insight, it became clear to Laurent that this was something common to Damen, something he had done before, many times over, for countless name days over the years. In his mind, he could imagine the free exchange of gifts between Damen and all those he held dear. His father, Kastor, Nikandros. Perhaps even Jokaste. It was an act of affection, of familiarity, for family, friends, and lovers alike. Platonic, without intention or any expectation of reciprocation.

It was, inherently, a gesture of friendship.

The realization shocked Laurent, though it should not have. Lacking any prior relationship for him to have truly measured theirs against, it had eluded Laurent’s attention. But it was, most obvious now, emphatically true: he and Damen were friends. In fact, Damen was perhaps the closest friend Laurent had ever had.

Laurent’s knowledge of him rearranged itself to accommodate this new understanding. That Damen could so seamlessly occupy the roles of both friend and lover astounded Laurent, though it made sense, in hindsight. That nights like this could occur, absent of lust or desire but not lacking in passion, spoke of it. That Damen could act as his confidante, his ally; his months of advising on the fields, his genuine concern for Laurent's wellbeing, spoke of it. That Laurent could bare the whole of himself to him and lay his trust at Damen’s feet, spoke of it. Damen could, and would, be both, because a lover was not always what Laurent needed most.

 _I want you to know that you will have a friend across the border, whatever happens tomorrow._ The vow Damen had offered at Ravenel echoed in Laurent’s mind. _Friends_ , he’d said, _Is that what we are?_

Laurent had been wrong to throw Damen’s words back at him. He’d always been a man of honor. That much had been evident from the start.

Blinking himself back to the present, Laurent looked up and was met by Damen’s gaze. It had been silent now for an extended length of time, longer than Laurent had realized given the concerned frown crossing Damen’s features. Again, he’d simply waited for Laurent’s response, endlessly patient, unwilling to interrupt his thoughts.

Laurent was so impossibly, overwhelmingly grateful for his presence, in that moment and for countless that had come before, that he was very nearly rocked back by the force of it.

Raising himself to his knees, Laurent reached around Damen to carefully deposit the goblet and his gift on the bedside table.

Damen’s frowned deepened. “I’m sorry,” he said. His hands lifted in an abortive gesture. “Have I - have I offended you? I know you don’t celebrate in Vere -”

“No,” Laurent said. Then, shifting as close to Damen as he could get with their knees between them, he wrapped his arms around Damen and pulled them chest to chest in a tight embrace.

A small _oof_ of air escaped past Damen’s lips as Laurent clutched him close. It was abrupt - it was not what he had been expecting. His hands hovered above Laurent’s back, surprised and uncertain for a moment, before he sunk into the embrace and folded himself into Laurent in return. He pressed his nose to the curve of Laurent’s neck, breathing long and slow. Grasping his own wrists, he circled his arms around him fully, firmly. Laurent felt the beveled edge of the gold cuff against his skin.

Hooking his chin over Damen’s shoulder, Laurent rearranged his arms across the warm, broad expanse of Damen’s back in order to hold him better. The pads of his fingers pressed into Damen’s bare skin, his eyes drifting shut as Damen’s hands roamed softly across his back, moving up and down slowly over the silk of his shirt.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Laurent murmured, the words tight with emotion. They spoke more than that: _Thank you for being here. Thank you for knowing me. You know me better than anyone else. You’re my best friend._

Gently separating their bodies, Damen kept them close, his palms tender on Laurent’s face. His thumbs stroked across his cheekbones once. “You are welcome,” he said. His voice matched Laurent’s.

Because it felt anticipatory, a wine glass teetering at the edge of the moment, and, even more so, because Laurent simply wanted it, Laurent leaned forward and pressed their lips together then for one long, hushed moment. It went no further than that, kept chaste and adoring.

“You better eat them before they go cold,” Damen said once they broke apart, a smile softening the features of his face. “I went through great adversity to get those here.”

Laurent laughed, crawling over Damen’s lap to get back to the goblet. Steam was still rising off the loukoumades, and hot honey dripped onto his fingertips as he tucked two of the puffs into each of his cheeks. Sweetness burst on his tongue, walnut slivers crunching between his teeth. He’d eaten them by the dozen like this when he was in Ios, making covert trips to the kitchens each day. Chewing happily, he settled back against the pillows, draping his legs alongside Damen’s where he lounged next to him.

“What,” he replied, swallowing, “did you carry sacks of flour and yeast all the way from Akielos? In danger of spilling a trail across the entire countryside?” He tipped the goblet in Damen’s direction, offering him some of his spoils.

“Well,” Damen replied. He picked up one of the loukoumades delicately between two fingers, considering it. “I made Nikandros carry them.”

Laurent halted with a pastry halfway to his lips. Lowered it. “Damen,” he said. “Did you not think we had basic ingredients in Vere?”

“I didn’t know,” Damen’s brow furrowed defensively. “I wanted to make sure they were made properly.”

Laurent could only hold his tongue for the span of two heartbeats before he burst into laughter, happy and unrestrained. His body sank lower into the bedding as he clutched at his stomach, lost to it.

“Stop it,” Damen laughed. “You’re ungrateful.”

“I’m not,” Laurent said, making an effort to catch his breath. “Next time I see him, I’ll give Nikandros my thanks for hauling the kitchens all this way.”

“He’ll appreciate that,” Damen said, grumbling. “ _I’m_ the one who made them, you know.”

Laurent chose another of the loukoumades, biting it pointedly in half. “Did you?”

“I did _help_.”

“...Did you?”

Damen sighed. “I brought Severin and Marthe the instructions.”

A wry, sidelong glance had him meeting Damen’s eyes again, then Laurent found himself caught in laughter once more, this time with Damen joining him.

It seemed entirely impossible, in defiance of all odds, that he was here and alive, a warm spring breeze filtering in through the window, his stomach clenching in laughter and in joy. That he shared this moment, and that his heart was filled with trust and love and gladness because of it. That this was something he would get to keep, happily, for all the span of his days.

And if it was a gift, Laurent knew, it was not one that he would take for granted.

**Author's Note:**

> [fic post](http://mooodlighting.tumblr.com/post/149904635850/ten-of-cups) \- [twitter](https://twitter.com/damen_ebooks)


End file.
